


Crash

by adastra615



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Angst, Car Accidents, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, rumple angst fest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 01:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10777011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adastra615/pseuds/adastra615
Summary: Belle and Rumple are in a car accident.Written for Rumple Angst Fest 2017 for CharmedRumbelle who requested: Rumbelle hurt/comfort with injury. Happy ending preferred.





	Crash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CelticHeartedFanfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticHeartedFanfic/gifts).



Belle and Rumple finished saying goodbye to Neal, Emma and Henry. The light from their two-story home gave warmth to an otherwise dark driveway. A intermittent rain fell on the gathering, but no one seemed to mind. It had been a pleasant evening, having the chance to spend time together after the busy week. It was becoming rarer and rarer with Emma having to take on more office work at the police station while David and Mary Margaret were on extended vacation.

 "Tonight was lovely, "Belle said. "Our place next Saturday?"

 She leaned lightly against Rumple, holding his hand. Normally he wouldn’t have wanted to dawdle in the rain, but the evening had put him in a good mood. Belle’s hand was warm in his. And just seeing Neal looking so content and happy, his arm resting lazily on Henry’s shoulder made it worth it.

 They’d all had something to drink and the atmosphere was laced with conviviality. He tried to think of the last time he had felt so relaxed, pleased just to have what some might consider small quotidian happiness in their lives. He tried on a daily basis to remind himself never to take what he had now for granted, because he had come from such a small place. A small broken family, a smallness that seemed to consume him, make his actions ineffectual, a smallness that leeched into every part of his life, and he had existed in such a claustrophobic place for so long, that to have this kind of happiness felt completely foreign, like being thrust into wide open spaces, frightening, beautiful, enthralling. He felt like he stumbled sometimes, didn’t know how to navigate a place that was so different from everything he’d known up until the point that he met Belle.

“Let’s plan on it,” Emma said. “Drive safe.”

"Glad to see you're looking so happy, son," Rumple said embracing Neal. Domestic life seemed to be suiting him; he had gained a little heft but he looked good, content, happy.

“You too, Papa,” Neal said returning the hug.

Henry grinned and gave his grandpa a hug. “Thank you for the pens, Grandpa.”  

Rumple had brought him a set of antique pens from the pawn shop as an early birthday gift. Henry spent a lot of time writing. He had told Rumple that he wanted him to be the first person to read his story when he was done. It was a fantasy set in an enchanted forest. Rum couldn’t say that that was his favorite genre, but he’d make an exception for Henry’s story.

His ankle had been aching all evening from the weather, but other than that the day had been wonderfully free of any drama or spectacle. It was such a rare thing, just to spend an evening with Belle and his family, life needed days like these every once in a while.

“I'm completely knackered,” Belle said as she slipped into the passenger seat, leaning her head back on the headrest, and giving him a tired but happy smile that made her face light up in the  glow of the porch light. He ran a hand through her hair and kissed her.

"Thank you for convincing me to go out tonight," he said. "I should have never doubted you.” It’d been one of those days that without  Belle, he would have curled up on the couch and secluded himself. A darkness settling over him, a self-hatred telling him he didn’t deserve any of this. But Belle had enough light for the two of them, and it hadn’t taken all that much convincing.  He surprised himself with how quickly he changed his mind.

"I knew you'd enjoy yourself.” She pecked him back. “Come on, let's get out of here before it picks up. I heard it’s supposed to be a pretty bad storm tonight."

 Emma and Neal’s house was a few miles from the pink Victorian. It was a rather curving and poorly lit road. Belle leant her head against the headrest.  She had been putting in overtime at the small library. It was finals for a lot of the students and she was always devoting her time to helping them find the books they needed, even taking on the job of tutor and agreeing to leave the library open later for the students who needed to get away from home and distractions to focus their best.

The pawn shop had been slow the past couple of days, the complete opposite of Belle’s situation. But she always seemed to enjoy the work, coming home and telling him about how one of the students had a breakthrough. Even Henry had been spending a lot of time with his grandma. She was helping him with a science project. Rum always marveled at the breadth of her knowledge. She hadn't limited herself in anyway, always applying herself to something new, carried by a great love of learning.

 

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, glad that she was getting a chance to rest, even if it was just for the few moments before they arrived back home. He wished his ankle was strong enough that he could pick her up carry her in the house. He didn’t want to wake her, but his ankle had been acting up the past couple of days. It was the change in the weather. It always affected him badly between spring and summer, when the humidity increased, and the rainy season started. It was one of those moments when he thought she deserved someone better, that sort of feeling that burrowed deep inside of him, would haunt him on occasion even though he knew she never saw it that way, it was only within his own mind that that perception existed.   He’d never really admitted that to her; that she deserved someone better than him. It was an old lingering feeling that he tried his best not to dwell upon. 

                    Light filled the car and a horn blared high and loud above everything else, drowning out the sound of the road and the cicada’s that had been their only accompaniment until that point. He saw it too late. The car swerved in front of them. The wheels hydroplaning.  Rum slammed on the brakes, trying to stay in his lane and avoid the other car. It careened wildly towards them.

“What’s happening?” Belle gripped the armrests. He caught her expression, sleep still lingering in her eyes and he wanted to grab her, hold her, protect her from the inevitable, and he knew that in that split second there was nothing he could do. He tried to swerve, the brakes refusing to catch against the slick road. The other car clipped the front left side of the Cadillac, the lights bearing down on them. There was a crunch of metal, and the tires slid against the wet grass.

 The car careened wildly to the right, leaving the road.  Everything slowed, the Cadillac balanced on the cusp between the road and the incline that dropped madly down into the Maine wilderness, and then they went over, picking up speed. His heartbeat pounding high and loud in his head, he tried to steer the car away from the trees, but there was nowhere to go, his foot pressing uselessly against the brake as the car was unable to gain traction against the slick grass.

 Belle’s fingers wrapped around his arm, but the incline of the hill was too steep. The trees were approaching faster and there was nothing he could do. Rain and branches hit the glass, the light reflecting strangely back in.  Two twin trees locked at the base rose up out of the dirt ready to catch them. He turned the wheel. If it had to be either of them, let it be him, _spare Belle, oh please-_

 He hit his head against the glass, he heard Belle shout something next to him. The car stopped. The driver side took the brunt of the force, the metal crunching and folding, separating against the trunks of the trees.  There was the long dying horn of the car that had hit them from above.

***

 Something warm was running down his forehead and into his eyes, and he took a gasping breath as he came back to consciousness, trying desperately to pull everything into focus. His heart was pounding in his chest, and his hands were shaking, and when he tried to move his legs there was a pain that made his him squeeze his eyes shut. When he opened them again the trees through the splintered glass blackened around the edges.

“Oh god,” he moaned, his face resting against the steering wheel, his head feeling too heavy to lift. Everything swirled nauseously about him, the colors tracking into each other in the pale light of the headlights as the battery of the car ran down. And then with a panic, the evening came rushing back to him, and he twisted in his seat, now barely even feeling the pain.

  "Belle!"

It was so dark, the road between Neal’s and his place was completely dark at night, no streetlights until they got farther back into town.

 “No, no, no, oh god no,” he was whispering under his breath. It didn’t sound like his voice.

 “Belle, please.”

 She was slumped in the passenger seat.

“Belle, Belle.” This time he shouted it, his voice already so raw. He tried desperately to reach her. He wanted to pull her close, but he was pinned by the crushed dashboard. He let out a desperate cry, pushing with all his might to free himself, but only causing a bone-breaking amount of pain to shoot up his nerve endings. He couldn’t bite back the scream.

“Belle,” he gripped her arm, sweat beading his brow. And then she moved and his breathing so ragged and panicked caught in his throat.

“Rum?” She said quietly and then with a start sat up. She ran a hand over her collarbone and took in a short breath. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I was so worried. You weren’t moving and I thought-” He was still hyperventilating and couldn’t quite get the words out. His fingers were numb and he was close to having a full blown panic attack.  “I’m stuck though. I can’t move my legs. But oh god, Belle, I thought – I thought-

“I know, but I’m okay, Rum.” He saw though that she wasn’t so sure of that herself. She looked down in the darkness, running a hand once again over the back of her neck. “What happened?” she mumbled more to herself. And he found he couldn’t quite remember. The whole event leading up to it was fuzzy and indistinct.

“I- I can’t remember,” he said, heightening his panic even more. “What did I do? Oh god I could have killed you.”

“Oh Rum, I’m okay. See look I’m okay.”  She led his shaking hand to her shoulder. “It’s just a bruise, I promise I’m okay. You need to take a deep breath.” But his body was betraying him and he couldn’t get a good breath if he wanted. He wanted them to get out of here; he couldn’t stand to be in the car any longer, and he tried desperately to push against the dashboard. Once again the ache shot up his leg and he let out a pained gasp.

“Is it your leg?” she asked, concern rising in her voice. “It’s going to be okay,” she said when he couldn’t get the words out, running a hand through his hair, he felt so helpless and weak. He prided himself on having an outward appearance of control, and now Belle was seeing him at his most vulnerable, scared, and in pain and unable to do anything about it. He hated himself for it.

 “Oh Belle, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” He found it was all he could say. She was holding him, twining her fingers through his hair, running a soothing hand over his face, trying to get him to look at her. 

“Oh my god, you’re bleeding,” she said. “It’s not so bad, though.” He had the feeling that she was trying to convince herself as much as him. “I’m going to get help.” She took off her cardigan. And his stomach dropped at the pained expression she made when she slipped it from her shoulder. She pressed it against his forehead before he had time to object. “Just hold it there, okay?”

“Don’t. Belle, please.” He heard the pleading in his voice.  But he knew once she had made up her mind, there was nothing he could do. “How are you going to get up the hill? It’s so dark. I don’t want you to get hurt.” Don’t leave me, another small voice in him said. Please don’t leave me.  He didn’t say it though; Held that small ugly feeling at bay. Because that was what Malcolm had done, and Belle would never do that to him. But he already felt so small and weak and useless and they were all feelings he had experienced before. Something he never spoke about and had pushed into the back of his mind.

“We can’t stay here.  You’re hurt and I don’t think we’re too far from Neal and Emma’s. It won’t take me very long. Ten minutes tops. I promise Rum, I’ll be right back.” 

 

He feared that she might have hit her head on the impact, especially since she had appeared unconscious at first. She unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the passenger side door. “I’ll be right back. I promise,” she said again and then she shut the door.  Suddenly he felt so enclosed.   The car was wedged up against a pair of trees, he could make out their bark barely through the shattered glass. They had slid down into one part of the ubiquitous forest that surrounded Storybrooke. Luckily - he thought, not that he enjoyed being pinned under the dash of his Cadillac, but the alternative, that it had been Belle - yes, luckily, he thought it had been him. His side had taken the brunt force of the impact.  He still didn't know the extent of the damage to his body, just that any small movement of his right leg sent a shooting almost blinding pain up his leg.

He tried to follow her progress up the hill but the shattered glass warped his view and in the darkness it was impossible to make out anything.  He was left alone with his own thoughts, and he wanted nothing of them. And he couldn’t help but remember the last time this had happened. Not exactly the same. Malcolm drunk, coming to pick him from primary school. Weaving in and out of his lane. Rum trying to get him to pay attention. His dad shoving him back into the seat, telling him he knew what he was doing. How could a little shit like him have any idea, anyway?  And then the trees, the tires of the car leaving the road; being thrown foreward, hitting his forehead against the dashboard. His dad telling him to stay put and then not coming back. Malcolm smelled like the pub, smoke and alcohol on his breath when he opened the driver’s side door a few hours later. Looking surprised to see his son curled up in the passenger seat, too dizzy to move. He’d tried to leave, thought he would just walk home, but the outside had spun and buzzed around his head, looping in great arcs that made him throw up and he dragged himself back into the car, thinking he was going to die. Rum’s forehead was still bleeding. A deep gash and purple bruise just below his hairline. He had needed four stitches and he had been suffering from a concussion.  “Forgot you was in here, boy,” his dad said, slipping into the driver’s seat and turning the key in the ignition, this time drunkenly lurching the car to the house.

 

That was in a different country separated by more than thirty years and yet the feeling of it was as strong as it had been that day. He tried to struggle free again, this time not biting back the cries of pain that the movement elicited.  Sweat ran down his forehead.  He had the stupid sickening thought that she would never come back, that she was too injured. She’d been hiding it or she couldn’t make it up the hill. He needed to get to her.

 He chided himself for being irrational. For the thoughtful put together man he presented himself to be, his core was pure anxiety, and it was moments like these where he could no longer keep up the façade and everything came apart. He pushed against the seat, tried to lever himself up against the steering wheel. The pain was so bad he thought he might black out, but his leg had moved the slightest bit. If he took it slowly he could probably wiggle himself out a bit. With one more heave, he pulled himself into the passenger seat. Some bone in his leg shifted, and he thought he was going to be sick, his stomach turning over, his vision turning black, and he might have passed out for a moment.

His head  pounded when he opened his eyes. He was drenched in sweat, his back now resting against the passenger side door. His mangled leg in the driver’s seat, but he was free. He couldn’t see much in the dark, the headlights having dulled into nothing. He tried to move his toes, but even that sent a numbing burning pain up the length of his calf. He could tell his right knee was swollen by the pressure of his trousers around the joint. Sudden fear struck him that he would never be able to walk again.

 Someone knocked against the glass, and he started violently, the door shifted against his back and he moved back into the passenger seat, trying not to move his leg too much.

"Rum you’re going to be okay. We’re going to get out,” Belle said. Neal was close by. “We called the ambulance from the house. Emma went to meet them.”

 "Papa, are you okay?” Neal said looking in.

"No, my leg,” he said "I don't think-” but he couldn't bring himself to say it. He heard sirens in the distance. No he didn’t want to go. He couldn’t get in there. He gripped Belle’s hand.

"It's oaky, Rum, its okay,” she was saying. He hated how afraid he was.

“Belle, are you okay?” he said after a moment. Some of his fear slipped away.  

"I'm fine.” But he noticed how she pressed her other hand against her shoulder.

 "Are you hurt?"

 "Just my shoulder. Just a little bit. I don't think it's anything serious. "

 "Oh, Belle I'm so sorry. I should have been paying attention. I don't know what happened. It’s not like me.”

 "Shh," she said. "It wasn't your fault. I think they swerved into our lane.”

"I’m going to get those bastards, " Neal said, taking a step back from the car and taking a deep breath, and surveying the area. “What the hell? They didn't even stop. Just drove on.” He shook his head pacing back and forth.

Neal’s voice faded into the background.

He had endangered her life. She deserved someone better than him. He felt sick again.

She ran a hand through his hair, and god it felt so good. He just wanted to lean into her touch and yet he knew he didn't deserve it. He tried to convince himself to pull away. She deserved someone who wasn't such an emotional and physical wreck, someone she could rely on.

***

She rode in the ambulance with him. He felt completely numb, his mind retreating to some other place, but it was just as indistinct and hazy and he couldn’t have said where it was. Maybe it was the combination of the drugs and the trauma, but he didn't really come to until a few days later, his right leg in a cast up to the knee. Belle sat next to him, her arm in a sling, balancing a book precariously on her knee. He watched her for a moment through drugged hazy eyes.

She looked up from her book, at first not registering that he was awake, looking thoughtful as if mulling over the last sentence she had read. And then her eyes widened, and the book slipped from her grip. “Rum?” And she was across the room.

“Belle,” he mumbled, feeling warm and disoriented, but happier than anything to see her, the events leading up to the predicament still lost somewhere behind him like a dream. He knew he should have felt concerned but those feelings were muted by whatever drugs were in his system.

 She crawled in next to him in the hospital bed, moving gingerly to avoid jostling his leg and her arm.

“Your shoulder,” he started to say, but instead she kissed him, and the thought died.

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” she said between kissing him. “It wasn’t your fault, Rum. It was a drunk driver. Emma and Neal tracked him down. You didn’t do anything wrong. Actually you probably saved my life.  You should see the car, the passenger side is the only part that’s still intact…” she trailed off, “but not now.” She kissed him again.

 He couldn’t say anything, just looked at her, incapable of understanding what it was she saw in him, her smile always catching him off guard, lowering defenses he thought were so integral to his wellbeing that he had come to doubt their existence. Only she made him aware of them. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said.

“You’re going to be okay too,” she said. “It’s not nearly as bad it looks,” she said when he gave her an incredulous look. “You’ll have to wear the cast for eight weeks. There are a few pins in your knee and you’ll have to go through physical therapy, but the doctor is confident you’ll make a full recovery.”

 “That’s all, is it?” he said but then gave a small laugh, raising his eyebrows when he looked at the cast around his leg. But it didn’t matter, Belle was by his side. They were both still alive.

“And… in the meantime, we get to spend a lot of time together,” she said.

“That’s true, isn’t it?” he said and leaned over and kissed her.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is really the first fic I've written specifically for someone else, so I hope it was okay. I'm actually really nervous to post it.


End file.
